I had recently turned 18, and that meant it was finally time for me to put my age to use, by heading out into my town of Aberystwyth to drink as much as I could, knowing I could do so completely legally.
My friends and I sauntered down to a pub called Rummers to indulge in a weekly event called Vodka Tuesday, where for some bizarre reason, the entirety of Aberystwyth decides to cut the price of Vodka to the price of a packet of Wotsits.
We started drinking, continued drinking and then carried on drinking. Completely unaware to the unique quirk of Vokda, that it tends to take effect on the drinker all at once. At this point I had already consumed roughly 20 shots of it, completely amazed at my ability to drink this amount yet not feel the adverse effects. That is, until a friend of mine suggested we move on elsewhere.
We took a step out of the pub and felt the breeze of the fresh air. Tt was at this moment I had realised that those 20 shots, were a large amount alcohol to consume. My legs felt like jelly and my voice slurred more than a modern-era Sylvester Stallone impersonator. I decided to do the responsible thing and walk home, at least I thought I did.
In reality. My recent indulgence into the Russian red label caused me to pass out on a grassy knoll located next to the local pet shop. The next thing I know I am up on my feet talking to the local police. They claim I am drunk, I disagree, they claim I have sick down my shirt, I also disagree. They take me home. My mother was not pleased.